


I'm Not A Telemarketer

by chrisqzs



Category: Newsies - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Modern AU, Soulmark AU, Soulmate AU, call center, telemarketers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-25
Updated: 2018-04-25
Packaged: 2019-04-27 16:39:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14429790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chrisqzs/pseuds/chrisqzs
Summary: Your average "the first thing your soulmate says to you is tattooed on your body" AU.But Racetrack works at a call center.Sorry I wrote this at work.





	I'm Not A Telemarketer

Racetrack was always confused by his soul mark, ever since his sixteenth birthday when the single word “fuck” appeared on his lower back. His best friend Jack joked that he had a tramp stamp. And he wasn’t entirely wrong. It really was in the perfect position to be a tramp stamp. So Racetrack hid his soulmark, which wasn’t uncommon, especially for those who hadn’t found their soulmate yet.

 

“Hello, my name is is Anthony and I’m calling on behalf of the New York Economic Development Bureau to conduct a survey about employment activities in order to assist - and you hung up on me,” Race clicked through the computer program in front of him to find his next call, “asshole.”

 

The call center wasn’t his first choice for a job - his first choice would have actually been no job while in college - but Jack already worked there and although the boss was kind of an asshole, their manager, Medda, made up for it. Plus a $12 an hour to talk on the phone wasn’t too shabby of a paycheck. Race leaned back in his chair and rubbed his eyes, he really had been looking at the screen for way too long. But he couldn’t take too long of a break so he leaned back in to call the new number on his screen. 

 

After three rings there was a click, which Race knew to mean someone had picked up. Not allowing the person to introduce themselves, he dove right into his spiel, “hello, my name is Anthony and I’m calling on behalf of the New York Economic Development Bureau to conduct a survey about employment activities in order to assist businesses in bringing jobs to your local community. This survey is confidential and voluntary, and this call may be recorded for quality assurance.” He took a breath, eyes flicking down to be sure that the call was still connected and that his caller hadn’t heard survey and hung up. “To be sure I am calling the correct number, is this 917-555-0124?”

 

There was no answer at first, and Race again checked to make sure the screen said “connected” and not “idle”. It did.

 

“Hello? Is anyone there,” he said, a little louder, just in case someone was hard of hearing. Race moved his cursor over the disconnect button, just about to click when he heard a voice through his headset.

 

“Fuck.”

 

\-----

 

Spot Conlon fucking hated his soulmark.It was stupid and it outed him. 

“Hello, my name is Anthony and I’m calling on behalf of the New York Economic Development Bureau to conduct a survey about employment activities in order to assist businesses in bringing jobs to your local community. This survey is confidential and voluntary, and this call may be recorded for quality assurance.”

 

When his sister saw it scrawled on his back the morning of his sixteenth birthday she laughed so hard she cried - how could her brother fall in love with a telemarketer?

 

He tried not to care about his soulmate somewhere, annoying the hell out of people because he has to call to take surveys. 

 

At one point, just after his birthday, he looked up the New York Economic Development Bureau but he couldn’t make heads or tails of the website or the actual Bureau, but he mentally applauded his soulmate for having the ambition to work in local government. So he resigned himself to eventually finding Anthony, whenever that was supposed to be, but to avoid actively looking for him. And hey, from his tattoo it looks like his soulmate would call him, anyway. He did always make it a point to pick up his phone, though, so what if he didn’t know the number. 

 

So when his phone rang while he was hanging out on a Thursday night with his friends, he picked it up. But before he could get a word in - even a hello - the words he knew way too well were being spoken into his ear.

“Hello, my name is Anthony and I’m calling on behalf of the New York Economic Development Bureau to conduct a survey about employment activities in order to assist businesses in bringing jobs to your local community. This survey is confidential and voluntary, and this call may be recorded for quality assurance.” He could hear the other person take a breath and continue, “to be sure I am calling the correct number, is this 917-555-0124?”

 

Spot didn’t know what to say. Yes didn’t seem like the right word, but hey you’re my soulmate was just…. Presumptuous?

 

“Hello? Is anyone there?” the voice - Spot’s soulmate - called out on the other end of the line and Spots heart sank. If he didn’t say anything now he would lose his chance. 

Spot tried to saying something nicer, he really did, but the only thing that would come out of his mouth in that moment was a simple, stunned, “fuck.”

 

\---------

 

Race was at a loss for words. 

 

Well, at a loss for all but one word, “fuck…”

 

This made Jack snap up and glare at Racetrack, shooting him a quick what the hell are you thinking look.

 

“Was that your….” the voice on the other end of the line said timidly (though Spot will vehemently deny it).

 

“Yeah,” Race said, waving Jack away. “Was that yours?”

 

“Um, yeah.”

 

Race couldn’t help himself, he laughed, “Jesus, was it really? That whole thing?”

 

“Up through the recording for quality assurance, yeah. Then I think you took a breath so-”

 

“So yeah,” Race said. He leaned back in his chair and sighed. 

 

He wanted to talk more - to his soulmate - but at that moment he saw his boss walk in to the office. “Shit. I’m at work, this is your number though, right,” Race asked leaning into his cubicle and scribbling down the digits on the screen. 

 

“Yeah, it’s my cell phone… Don’t you want me to take a survey though?” 

 

“Nah, I don’t want the first think I learn about you to be what your gross annual income is. Let me take you out to dinner first at least.” Race smiled for a moment, but realized exactly what he had said, “anyways, I have to go!” 

 

Maybe he clicked the disconnect button a few times more than he needed to. 

 

And maybe he spend the rest of his time between calls texting his soulmate, who he learned was named Spot.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey follow me on tumblr at finchs-slingshot.tumblr.com for my newsies stuff!


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